


He’s a (Cherry) Scone

by tealbrigade



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baz is a sap when he’s drunk, Dev and Niall are enablers, M/M, Musician Baz, Open Mic Night, Simon’s just out here to eat scones and drink coffee, Songfic, background Deniall if you squint, it’s just the song peach scone but make it snowbaz, kind of a coffee shop au, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealbrigade/pseuds/tealbrigade
Summary: Baz is a barista. Simon is a regular who Baz is hardcore crushing on. Dev and Niall, at the guys’ weekly Open Mic Night hang, convince Baz to open up about his feelings in an incredibly embarrassing way. Songs, scones, and shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	He’s a (Cherry) Scone

Open Mic night at Ebb’s Cafe was a weekly tradition, and the Pitch family was nothing if dedicated to upholding tradition.

(Of course, Basilton Pitch was less interested in the heteronormative aristocratic nonsense his family considered tradition, but the sentiment can apply elsewhere. Like at weekly open mic nights.)

Every Thursday, Dev and Niall swung by the cafe after Baz’s shift was over, and they’d settle into their corner table and enjoy the show. After 6pm, Ebb’s served alcohol alongside their coffee and tea, and it was the lads’ time to unwind, catch up, and generally have their weekly dose of friendly social interaction. 

(For Baz, anyway. Dev and Naill lived together and were generally better people-persons than he was, and also Baz lived alone at his aunt’s flat since she ran off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what for her job. Baz needed this.)

Since they’d all started uni, their paths didn’t overlap as much as they had back at Watford. Thus the weekly get-togethers were established. It was the second most important highlight of Baz’s week. 

It should have become the first most important once established, but by that point, the first spot was taken by one Simon Snow coming in every morning at 6:47 like clockwork to order a cherry scone and pumpkin mocha breve. Baz would say that it was merely a professional courtesy to memorize a regular customer’s order—which was true—but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t also due to his massive crush on the guy. 

(What could Baz say? He was a simple man, weak for golden curls and freckles.)

Being the kind of person he was, Snow immediately struck up a friendship. Baz was one of only two baristas who would willingly take that god-awful opening shift, so every day except Thursday (during which he closes instead, obviously, for open mic) Snow would come in and beam that sunshine smile at Baz, chatting amicably about their days or their classes or what have you. On a couple of occasions, Baz would take his break while Simon was around, and they’d sit inside chatting and sharing coffee. At some point they exchanged numbers. Baz was over the moon. 

Then he met Agatha, Simon’s girlfriend, who he enjoyed telling stories about to Baz frequently enough that Baz could probably guess her Myers-Briggs or Enneagram or blood type or whatever before ever actually having a conversation with her. 

They were very cute together. Classic childhood friends become high school sweethearts kind of thing. They even looked picture perfect; golden, flawless, complimentary. 

Anyway, that may have killed Baz’s chances at love, but he kept up his quasi-friendship with Simon anyway. Before open mic nights with the guys, Baz didn’t really talk to anyone or hang out with anyone. He’d never been great at making friends unless an extrovert found him and adopted him first. Even Dev was a relative who pulled Niall into their orbit. After Watford, meeting people was hard. He had a tentative allyship with the girl who sat next to him in literature class—Penelope—but they didn’t really associate beyond schoolwork. 

For a while, that was fine. Baz was fine. He’d gotten the job at Ebb’s once Fiona left, more to have something to occupy him than an actual need for money. So he saw and talked to people every day. He got free coffee. What’s more to ask for?

“Actual human connection?” Niall suggested. 

“A social life?” Dev added. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Baz replied. 

Simon Snow was a beam of sunshine during the otherwise rainy London sky that was Baz’s life. Nothing could dampen his spirits. No matter what, he arrived with a smile and a genuine inquiry of Baz’s life, and left with a fresh scone and coffee that maybe Baz put a little more effort into than normal. 

Near the end of the third open mic night, Dev instituted a Simon Quota. “You gotta stop telling us about the very cute yet  _ incredibly straight dude already in a relationship,  _ man. It’s not healthy.”

“Then what else am I supposed to talk about?” Baz scoffed, covering his embarrassment at being called out for the sap he was with sarcasm, as is his nature. “My terrible poetry?”

So, Dev and Niall did most of the talking. 

Every now and then, they tried to coerce Baz into performing at one of the open mic nights. He did play a mean guitar, he admitted. And that “terrible poetry” usually wasn’t half bad once he could rearrange it and set it to some chords. But that didn’t mean Baz was prepared to get on a  _ stage.  _ In front of  _ people.  _ To  _ perform. _

He would rather be kidnapped by fucking numpties and stuck in a coffin for weeks. Well, maybe that’s a bit extreme. But not by much.

Well, on this particular night, Baz was feeling particularly melancholy. Simon hadn’t been into the shop for the last few mornings, and his literature class was kind of kicking his ass and Penelope was unusually unresponsive, and Baz was also fairly convinced he’d be alone forever. (That last one wasn’t a  _ new _ thing, but it usually snuck up with a vengeance when other things sucked, too.) Dev and Niall tried (unsuccessfully) to keep the conversation on track to better things, then failing that, attempted to simply get Baz drunk.

So, there he was. Sitting in a corner booth at a cafe open mic night with his two mates, tipsy as all hell, and Dev’s goading him into performing again, and actually, that doesn’t sound half bad. 

“You were working on something recently, right?” Niall asked. Niall was the only one Baz bothered showing his compositions to, since Dev was completely incapable of giving serious and helpful feedback. If Baz remembered correctly (he did), Niall’s last comment on the something in question was:

“Well...really, it makes no damn sense.” A thoughtful pause. “Compels me, though.”

“Well, thank God it’s at least compelling,” Baz had scoffed then, but in this moment,  _ compelling _ sounded like a glowing recommendation.

Baz stood from the table, and when he didn’t wobble or find his sight crossing, he walked as confidently as he was able to the sign up sheet by the stage and put down his name.

“Atta boy!” Dev cheered as Baz ambled back to the table, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Never let it be said,” Baz declared with a dramatic wave of his hand, “that a Pitch turned down a challenge.”

There were only about two performances before Baz, which was just enough time to come out of his tipsy courage. “Wait a minute,” he muttered. “What the fuck am I doing.”

“Having another drink, of course,” Dev immediately said before Niall had a chance to cut in and suggest something reasonable. Dev, of course, was a filthy enabler, and Baz figured  _ well, why not,  _ and downed the offered drink in one go.

Problem solved. Courage crisis averted.

From up on stage, a voice spoke into the mic. “And that was a local favorite, the band Blue Paladin, with some original songs. Up next we have Basilton Pitch for a voice and guitar performance. Let’s give him a warm welcome.”

A smattering of applause followed Baz up on stage, with Dev and Niall cheering the loudest. He took the cafe’s provided guitar from the last band, slung the strap across his shoulder, and took a seat on the little stool in front of the mic.

Baz looked out over the crowd and for one brief moment sanity pierced the tipsy fog, his inner voice saying,  _ It’s not too late to just play Kishi Bashi or something, Basil,  _ but his fingers strummed the chord he’d been working with for the last couple of weeks.

And he let himself get carried away.

_ “There’s a young man, and he writes stories _

_ He’s a little writer boy, and he fell in love with a guy—“ _

He dropped back into a speaking cadence, “But the guy...already has a girlfriend. I just wanna point that out; very important background information.” Clearing his throat, he went on.

_ “Hi, what’s your name? How are you, how’s your life? _

_ Oh, you got a girl? Are you in love? If so, what type? _

_ Is it platonic, strictly just as friends, _

_ Or the type that ties you two together ‘til tomorrow’s end?” _

Though it wasn’t part of his original composition, and Sober Baz was surely going to give him a hard time when Dev (who was recording this right now, the twat) showed him this later, Baz found himself adding little comments in asides throughout. It made the whole thing sort of disjointed, but also more raw, and (he hoped) more relatable. Compelling, as Niall had put it.

_ “And I love the thought of being with you _

_ Or maybe it’s the thought of not being so alone... _

(Hey, the second one’s way sadder than the first one, but I don’t know...)”

Baz swept into the next verse and distantly heard the door jungle as a newcomer arrived. 

_ “We get a cup of coffee, it all looks friendly, _

_ And I won’t pull any stunts— _ (but, I’m a little stunt-puller since birth)

_ So I don’t know what to tell you _

_ If I try to confess my love for—“ _

Baz made the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with none other than Simon Snow.

This called for emergency intervention.

“ _ —scones. _ Uh, I just wanna say something real quick, please listen, shh.” Was the  _ shh _ for the audience or a message to himself? He was barely even singing at this point, just speaking along with his chords, fingers strumming on autopilot. Dammit, Basilton,  _ focus. _ “I...love...ugh, these scones. Just the diversity between flavors they have here? The blueberry, the cherry, the...pumpkin. Pumpkin! That’s basically a squash, and I don’t know how they’re going to make a  _ scone  _ out of a squash; that’s just Elon Musk in his little lab just cooking up, baby, but—”

In the audience, Niall was making a slashing gesture across his throat in desperation, and Baz took the hint as well as he could in the middle of this current carnage, clearing his throat and returning to the verse as best he was able.

_ “Oh, what were you talking about? I’m sorry, I interrupted _

_ Your girlfriend made you mad the other day?” _

And he closed his eyes as he went on, because if he saw Dev’s dumb grin or Niall’s grimace or  _ Simon fucking Snow _ one more time he was liable to leap off the stage and run screaming out of the building in shame.

_ “Oh yeah, he told me a lot about you. _

_ Yeah! Uh-huh? And it’s so great that you’re doing all of those things. _

_ But yeah, he’s like...he’s so nice. He’s so  _ nice.”

Distantly Baz registered horror as a slight crack in his voice formed as he went on. This part wasn’t exactly in his original draft.

_ “He’s so nice, and he cared about me _

_ When no one else did, literally  _

_ I don’t think I’ve ever felt love before that— _

_ He’s a peach…scone. He’s a peach scone, yes, and...I guess. Like I’ve said before.” _

Goddammit, Basil, please shut up before you say something  _ else  _ you’ll regret tomorrow.

_ “I love the thought of being with him, _

_ And I just hope he doesn’t get hurt…” _

He could not heed his own advice.

_ “I’ve heard it’s so nice, good for you guys, and I’m glad _

_ I’m glad that I’m not so alone _

_ And if you find someone who loves you for who  _ you _ are, _

_ Keep on lovin’ em, man,  _ cause that only happens like, once in a lifetime, you know? And who am I to get in the way of someone living their lifetime. You know?”

His voice trailed off, a semi-resolved chord echoed, and there was a beat of silence before the audience realized that he was done and began to applaud again. Baz stood calmly, set the guitar aside on it’s stand.

Without another glance to his friends or to Simon, Baz walked off stage and proceeded to duck back behind the  _ Employees Only  _ door, which he could totally do, being an employee of the establishment. 

(Though he wasn’t entirely sure he was brave enough to show his face here ever again. Sorry, lads, we’re gonna have to replace open mic night with something else.)

Once safely away from prying eyes, Baz slumped down next to the employee lockers and wished very much that he was flammable and could erase the last half hour of his existence from memory.

Once he made it home—needing to knock back some NyQuil to force himself to get some sleep before his morning shift—he debated skipping work the next day, but Ebb deserved better than that, and besides, he was Basilton Pitch and had a respectable reputation to uphold.

Whatever Powers That Be existed were not kind, for not only did he wake up and limp into work with a headache, Simon Snow wandered in at 7:02, just when Baz had convinced himself that he’d squeaked past an intensely awkward encounter.

And  _ of course _ Phillipa, the only other barista on duty, was already occupied with another customer. Baz drew on every experience of schmoozing family friends and fancy parties he’d had to endure in his life, schooled his expression, and calmly said, “Good morning. What can I get you?”

Simon blinked. “Uh. The usual, please.”

Baz tapped that into the register, studiously avoiding Snow’s gaze. “All right. Will that be all?”

“Um, yeah.”

As Baz was tearing the receipt from the printer to hand it to Simon—which was stupid, Simon never wanted the receipt—Simon asked, “Uh, hey? You got a break soon, maybe?”

Baz froze. He was an hour into his shift, with three more to go, easily. He most certainly did not have a break soon.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just give me a minute to take care of this line.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll just…” Snow gestured vaguely over to a table, and made his departure.

Baz took the next few orders while trying valiantly not to implode from embarrassment. It was hard work, and he needed a couple of customers in line to repeat themselves before he could get his head straight. Once the stream of customers through the door slowed to a stop, and Phillipa had a steady handle on the drinks needing making at the bar, Baz told her he was taking a quick break.

“Bit soon for that, eh?” She asked, but shrugged. “Sure.”

Baz fixed himself a latte with an absurd number of espresso shots—the cup would give him something to do with his hands, and perhaps the caffeine intake would kill him before the embarrassment would—and walked around the bar to join Simon Snow at the table he’d procured, his knee bouncing and causing the wobbly table to dance.

“How’s the coffee?” Baz asked as he sat down, nodding at the cup that Phillipa had made for him, taking a sip of his own drink.

“It’s fine,” Simon replied. “Not quite as good as yours, but hey. I’m not complaining.”

Steady on, Basil.

“So,” Baz said.

“So,” Simon said. A beat passed. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”

Baz groaned. “God. I was hoping I hallucinated you being there.”

Against all odds, Snow actually laughed. “What? Like you’re bad or something? You’re a decent musician.” Another pause. “Interesting song choice.”

“Oh, thanks. Anyway, due to personal reasons, I will be passing away—“

“No, no, no, seriously!” Simon said, taking a bite of his scone, because of course he couldn’t stop eating the damn scone while Baz was having this crisis. Mouth still full, he went on, “It was good. Really good.”

Baz thought, perhaps, he was using the scone like Baz was using his coffee. A nervous distraction.

“Thanks,” he said, because for one of the few times in his life, Basilton Pitch was at a loss for words.

There was another pause, and Baz sipped his coffee while Simon chewed. Of all the things Baz was expecting Simon to say, it was not what actually came out of his mouth once he’d swallowed his food.

“So. I don’t know if I mentioned it to you, cause I haven’t been in for a bit. Agatha and I broke up.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to do a spit take. “Oh no, really?” Baz said, trying valiantly not to choke on a bit of espresso that was definitely trying to enter his lungs. “What happened?”

He just shrugged. “Eh. We both realized that neither of us were into it. Grew up together, you know, and our folks were really expecting it to happen, so I guess we just went with it. I’m dense as all hell, so I didn’t think anything of it, but she figured she deserved something better, and she does. So.” Another shrug. “We’re good. Just weird not being together.”

“Yeah,” Baz said, unsure what the hell his heart was doing right now. “That’s understandable. Good you’re on good terms, though.”

“Yeah. She’s still one of my best friends.” Snow hesitated. “My friend Penny, though, she wasn’t surprised at all. She figured it was coming, partly because I wouldn’t shut up about someone else.”

Baz’s first thought was that he was pretty sure people called his school friend Penelope Penny, and that was an odd coincidence. His second thought was actually registering what Simon had just said.

“Someone else, huh?”

Simon couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but neither could he keep a smile from his face. “Yeah.” He set his elbows on the table, nesting his chin in his hands, and raised an eyebrow at Baz.

_ Dammit, Snow, using my own move against me. _

“So on that note,” Simon Snow said with a half grin. “I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee sometime. I mean. Somewhere you don’t work.”

Baz blinked. “Like a date?”

“Like a date.” His eyes dropped down to the scone again, suddenly nervous. “If you’d be into that, anyway.”

He couldn’t breathe. This had to be a dream. Maybe this whole morning was a dream, and Baz was still at home in a drunken slumber making all of this.

“That would be nice,” Baz said. “Let’s do it.”

There was that sunshine smile, and Baz melted. Simon scarfed down the rest of his scone—poor thing, a casualty of love—and stood. “Awesome. Great. Um. I guess I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Baz said, and that’s all he was capable of, because his heart was all a flutter and his face permanently turned up into a smile that even Phillipa’s glares from across the bar as more customers came in couldn’t quell. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

He was still going to give Dev a hard time later for getting him up on that stage, but Baz figured maybe he owed the man a drink, too.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I was really hoping my first contribution to this fandom would be something nice and serious, but here we are. 
> 
> I reread Carry On in its entirety this weekend and Wilhelm’s version of the song Peach Scone was on repeat in my brain, and this just sort of happened. I quoted the lyrics a lot here with some adjustments to fit.
> 
> I also didn’t really proofread this, so please let me know if you catch any glaring errors!
> 
> And feel free to come yell at me over on Twitter @tealbrigade :)


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